


You Need to Shave

by TheBraveHobbit



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:07:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBraveHobbit/pseuds/TheBraveHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's broken his arm in a brawl and needs help with his morning routine: a oneshot drabble</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Need to Shave

Grantaire was not one to think of far-reaching consequences when he got into a brawl, but if he had been…well this certainly wouldn’t have been included on the list. His imagination was pretty extensive, but his boyfriend (that word alone was still somewhat of a shock, after all these months) always seemed to exceed the confines of reasonable projection, and the way Enjolras was seated on his bathroom counter, clad in nothing but his binder and a pair of Grantaire’s Deadpool boxers, dreadlocks loose around his thin shoulders, was certainly not anything Grantaire had ever been bold enough to imagine. Somehow domestic fantasies had always been the most taboo, and he couldn’t quite tame the flutter in his chest as he met Enjolras’ eyes. There was a determined expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“You need to shave.”

Grantaire held up his cast and shrugged. “No can do.”

“You look like a nerf-herder.”

He couldn’t help himself; he snorted loudly and leaned over the sink beside Enjolras, shoulders shaking as he tried to contain his laughter, his damp curls sticking to his face and neck.

“Was that a Star Wars reference?”

“I do live with Combeferre. Come on now, you let me wash your hair.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Do you even—” He swallowed that sentence as quickly as he could, but Enjolras had no difficulty puzzling out the rest of it. A delicate hand reached to a dark, unshaven cheek, smooth as the day Enjolras had been born, and Grantaire felt like the scum of the earth.

“I used to shave my legs.” Enjolras said easily. “It’s the same principle. Against the grain—” his fingers left his own cheek in favor of Grantaire’s, and ran rough against the stubble there. “—careful around the curves—” he cupped Grantaire’s jaw and pulled his face closer. “—and take your time.” He leaned and stretched so that he could kiss the tip of Grantaire’s nose, smiling with impossible serenity.

“I could just stay scruffy.” Graintaire wasn’t sure how he managed to talk when his lungs were so empty. “I’ve always thought nerf-herders were kind of handsome.”

“You do realize this is just an excuse to get close to you.” Enjolras said as he reached to retrieve Grantaire’s shaving kit, in that matter-of-fact tone that drove Grantaire wild. He stretched across the counter with one leg to hitch Grantaire’s waist, pulling him away from the sink and within reach of the razor, and Grantaire moved along willingly.


End file.
